


Perfect

by ava_jamison



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Superman (Comics), Superman - All Media Types, Superman/Batman (Comics), World's Finest (Comics)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2019-01-19 09:54:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12408117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ava_jamison/pseuds/ava_jamison
Summary: Feedback cuddled.





	Perfect

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback cuddled.

The alien spacecraft had been abandoned for at least a century, shrouded in ice until Superman had used his heat-vision to defrost it. It wasn’t like it was going anywhere, and now that it was a few yards from the door of the Fortress, it was as safe and constant as anything on Earth. So Bruce was cursing himself a little for spending yet another weekend tinkering with the thing, and in particular for spending the last hour in such an uncomfortable position splayed out over icy metal, the cold working its way through his sweatshirt and jeans. He rubbed his hands together to get the blood running enough to manipulate the dial mechanism at two o’clock. His goal was the “ping” sound that various parts of this vehicle emitted when things were back to original order. Not that he’d heard more than a half-dozen of the little beeps but they were his end-goal. The aliens had built in a system that he’d dubbed Red Light/Green Light. “Like hot or cold?” He’d tried to tell Clark. “Mother May I? The spaceship makes a little humming noise when the part’s almost there, then a sharper beep when it’s done.” He didn’t get one every time he tried but maybe that made it all the sweeter when it did happen, the sound announcing a puzzle-piece falling into place. Perfect, it was, and that must be what kept bringing him back to work on it again. He was a detective, after all. Nothing like something falling into place, perfect and easy.

The wiring that led from the decapacitator to the broken conduit was not in an easy-access location, and Bruce had to get down on his back and shimmy forward a little to reach the things he needed to reach. It was awkward, but not half as awkward as when Superman joined him, lying down beside him and squeezing in as far as he could, he shoulder pressed next to Bruce’s. “How’s it going?” he said, so close that his breath ruffled Bruce’s hair. 

Bruce turned in the tiny, constrained space, nose bumping Superman’s chin. “Fine. But couldn’t you use your x-ray vision to figure that out?”

“Mmm,” Clark said, and didn’t bother to move at all. 

Bruce ignored him, as much as you can ignore six feet and three inches of warm alien pressed alongside you, ankle to hip and then waist to shoulder. Heated alien, even. “You’re like a furnace, “ he said. And hand me the pliers. They were right there before you slid in.” 

Clark grabbed it and handed it over. “Thought I’d help. Shouldn’t be all your project.” 

“Why not?”

“Don’t you have better things to do?”

“You’re the one who doesn’t have an understudy.” 

“Hmm,” Clark nodded. “Should get one of those.”

Bruce found himself smiling, just to himself and just a little. He shrugged as he turned the dial, or as close to a shrug as he could manage, trapped like he was between the wall of the spacecraft and the wall of Superman’s body. The man’s warmth was palpable, so close like this and…

Clark coughed politely, shaking Bruce from his reverie. “I think it goes the other way.”

“It doesn’t.”

“It does.” Clark tried to reach past him, but his elbow would’ve been in Bruce’s face, so he had to reach under him, arm sliding between the floor and the curve of Bruce’s neck. “Give me the wrench.”

“No!” Bruce nudged him away, and Clark’s arm slid down further under Bruce’s shoulders. “I’ve got it. And you’re wrong. It turns to the right. Won’t go the other way at all.”

Clark’s right hand stayed where it was, but his left hand came up and closed over Bruce’s, the one torquing the valve and again, Bruce was struck by their warmth. Their size, too. Bruce was a big man but Clark was even bigger, and his hand over Bruce’s only emphasized that difference. Especially as he clasped Bruce’s hand to help hold the wrench and turned the dial the other way, both of them turning it at the same time. A tiny hum started up in the core of the spacecraft. “Didn’t you say that was the sound for almost there?”

Bruce cleared his throat; ignored the fact that he was basically being held in Clark’s arms. “I was wrong.”

“Better mark that on my calendar,” Clark said, grinning, and Bruce had to have imagined the faintest tease that crept into the perfectly mundane, “Keep going?” 

Bruce bit back a smile, because Clark wasn’t the only one who could play chicken, thank you very much. He turned to look Clark in the eyes and give back what he got but he ended up with his face tucked into Clark’s neck, almost, and he had to arch his back to meet the man’s gaze. So blue.

Superman’s chest rose and fell against his, and the next words he spoke vibrated against every cell in Bruce’s body, because it felt like Clark was inhabiting every cell in his body, wrapped around him and holding him, the hand clasping Bruce’s over the valve squeezing for emphasis. “Just a little more.”

Now it was Bruce’s turn to hum instead of really answer, breath bouncing off of Clark’s jaw.

“Here, let me.” Clark said, but Clark’s hand on his didn’t help him work the wrench. Instead he moved to touch Bruce palm to palm, sliding his fingers between Bruce’s.

Bruce dropped the wrench, and very far away, he heard it clatter as it fell. Clark reached for the valve with his own hand, sliding his fingers against Bruce’s on the way.

Against all of his better judgment, Bruce interlaced his own in Superman’s grasp, and Clark smiled like he’d just been hoping for exactly that. Slowly, slowly Clark telegraphed his next move, gaze flicking from eyes to lips and back again, head tilting to better kiss him, and then finally letting their lips meet. It was the gentlest kiss Bruce had ever felt, the softest brush of lips, the careful nudge toward him, and he seemed to be waiting again, like Bruce was some kind of blushing conquest who had to give him a sign. He bit back a smile at the thought and canted his head, letting their lips slant together but Clark kept it tender, lips brushing lips and no tongue at all, just tender, slightly open kisses to his face until Bruce felt himself sigh, relaxing against him, falling into the kiss and letting Clark take over.

Clark moaned, pulling him closer, as close as they could get in such confined quarters, and of course Bruce knew they shouldn’t be doing this, that this would only lead to problems, that he should stand up and walk away but not right now, some deep part of him whispered. Not yet. 

Clark’s grip on the valve flexed and together they turned it; with a final click, the damn thing went “ping” and against all odds in any universe, Bruce smiled against Clark’s mouth.

“Perfect,” Clark whispered, and Bruce smiled wider, tucking his face into Clark’s throat to breathe him in, to nod and let Clark feel it because there was no way he was trusting his voice right now. But Clark understood, just like he always did, because the way they fit together in every other way made them perfect like this too, and he gathered Bruce closer, kissing his hair. “Perfect,” he said again, so soft Bruce felt more than heard it ghost over his head, and he closed his eyes.

In a moment, they would have to get up and out of here, but right now? This, right here? Clark was right. Perfect.


End file.
